Chapter 241: She Wanted Him Here, Not Invincible

DOVE’S POV

"Left here," Dove told Edrik, pointing past the shed. The man from the roadblock shouted behind them, and she kept her eyes on the gap beside a parked van. It was wide enough. She had seen it on the way in.

Edrik swung the pickup through. Thorne looked out the back while Dove held the bag between her knees. A fist struck the truck’s rear side with a sharp bang, then fell away as they gained speed.

"Still following?" she asked.

"Not keeping up," Thorne said.

She did not breathe properly until the staffed gate came into view. Edrik stopped beside its guards, and Dove pointed back the way they had come, describing the trucks and the barrier while the turn was still clear in her head. She wanted somebody else warned before they drove straight into it.

Thorne later came home with bread, a repaired kitchen handle, and a list of things he still thought he should do before sleeping.

Dove took the bread first. It smelled good, and she was not going to let an argument damage dinner.

"Sit down," she said.

"I need to take this back to the annex."

"The handle?"

He held it up. He had reshaped the existing metal cleanly, and she could see why he was pleased with the work. She could also see the dust on his shoulders and the way he had forgotten to drink from the bottle at his hip.

"Will anyone die if they use a different cupboard tonight?"

His mouth twitched. "Probably not."

"Then sit with me before I start making unreasonable demands like feeding my husband."

Edrik took the handle from him. "I’ll drop it off. I’m checking the street with the neighbors anyway."

Thorne hesitated, then let him. Dove liked that small decision almost as much as she liked the moment he finally sat beside her.

The neighborhood watch had checked their block and agreed on who would stay outside until the next shift. The armed road beyond the storage sheds remained a problem, but it was not an excuse to stand awake until they became useless. Their ready bags stayed by the rear door. The fan hummed. Dinner waited on the table.

For this hour, they were home.

Dove passed Thorne a plate of stew and thick bread, then poured him water. She filled her own plate too, then nudged his knee beneath the table.

"Did you see your father?" she asked.

He nodded. "He was helping with dinner."

"And did he ask you to fix the entire annex?"

"The handle was loose."

"That is a suspiciously different sentence."

Thorne looked at the spot where Edrik had put the handle before taking it. Then he smiled a little, tired and caught.

"I wanted something to do while I was there."

Dove put down her spoon. She could have told him to stop hovering again. His father already had. She wanted to know why he kept trying to fill every visit with another useful thing.

"Are you worried he’ll leave?"

He took a moment before answering. "I keep thinking about the days I didn’t know where he was. Then I’m there, and it feels wrong to go home when I could stay another hour."

She understood that feeling even if she could not give him the years he wanted back. Her own losses did not come with an address she could drive to in the morning.

For a moment, she envied him. Then she hated the envy, then decided neither feeling needed to become something he had to comfort her about tonight.

She reached for his hand.

"You can visit tomorrow without earning it by fixing something."

"I know."

"Do you? Because your father looked very prepared to throw you out over a sandwich."

He laughed, the sound loosening something in both of them. Dove leaned against his shoulder and let the quiet afterward stay quiet.

His shoulder settled beneath her cheek. For once, he was not trying to get up and fix something. Dove hooked her arm through his and stayed there.

"What do you want to do tonight?" she asked.

His gaze moved to the door, then returned to her. "Stay here."

"Excellent choice. Very attractive answer."

"You were going to say that if I chose you."

"Yes. I’m biased and comfortable with it."

He touched her cheek, smiling in the way that always made her want to climb closer instead of continuing a perfectly reasonable conversation. She did climb closer, settling beside him with her legs tucked across his lap.

He held her automatically, then paused until she rested her forehead against his.

"This is what I want too," she told him.

His thumb moved gently along her jaw. He moved the plate out of her way before settling with her, an ordinary little kindness she would have missed if she had been busy deciding what to ask for next. She kissed him again because she had noticed.

Outside, somebody called the next watch name. A pot clattered in the neighboring kitchen. The ordinary sounds made the room feel real around them, a place they had built a life in rather than a waiting room for the next emergency.

Dove kissed him, slow enough that neither of them had to hurry toward an answer. When she pulled back, he looked less tired and much more interested in staying exactly where she had put him.

"There he is," she murmured.

"I’ve been here."

"You’ve been carrying six errands in your head. I wanted my husband back for a minute."

He laughed softly and drew her closer. She let herself enjoy having asked for what she wanted and gotten it, without pretending it was selfish to need his attention sometimes.

Dove decides tonight belongs to her, and she’s taking exactly what she wants. She stands between them like a goddess choosing her sacrifice, and the look on her face says she’s already made her decision. Her fingers find the hem of her shirt first, pulling it slow, watching Thorne’s jaw tighten as skin appears inch by inch. She isn’t rushing. She never rushes when she wants them desperate.

"Strip," she says, and she isn’t looking at Edrik. Thorne’s hands move before his brain catches up, yanking his shirt over his head, fumbling with his belt, and Dove tracks every single motion with a lazy kind of hunger.

He’s struggling with the button on his pants, fingers clumsy, too eager, and Dove smiles. There it is. That’s what she wanted. She lets her own clothes fall, stands bare and golden and utterly unashaken, and walks straight past Thorne to where Edrik sits.

She doesn’t tell him to move. She stands over him, one foot on either side of his thighs, close enough that he could lean forward and press his mouth to her stomach. He doesn’t. Not yet. He just tilts his head back and grins up at her, that sharp, wolfish grin that means he’s already three steps ahead and enjoying every single one.

"Sit," Dove says, and this time she is looking at Thorne.

"Sit and watch like a good boy."